


On the edge of burning/ Remembering the sunlight

by Kasan_Soulblade



Series: My DBD stories [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Crack Treated Seriously, Family, Fluff, Gen, I have no idea how long this is going to go on for, In which the Wraith unwillingly becomes a dad, Interdemensional custody dispute between the Wraith and Strode?, It's a plot bunny, Laurie Strode gets a hint, Meg is far too young, and the Wraith makes use of both traits, mild spoilers for the Halloween franchise, the Survivors have no clue what's going on, where the Entity is both lazy and unobservent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: She reminded him of something so far gone he didn't recall the name, made him scramble over a language that wasn't his...(First to reassure) Because her presence here was an assurance that (nothing is wrong, he lied) everything was horridly wrong.This was a place for the guilty to find judgment, yet here was a child without sin, simply abandoned and, as other had put it, in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He gave these... facsimiles of humans one chance to prove their worth, and they hadn't.  They'd failed.  Their reaping would be all the bloodier for it.  He'd get her out, because despite his appearance he wasn't a monster, but they, them, they would neither get her or a second chance.And such as it was until the Shape's sister got a hint and saw a Reapers child. He couldn't kill her fast enough to slow her down, she was damnably like her brother in that regard, and all (at first) she saw a child, in danger, and not even the Shape, her own personal Reaper, had been enough to keep her from protecting a child.Philip really had no chance after that point.
Series: My DBD stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891381
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

The _hiss tick_ of something striking stone drove him and in turn drew mist and darkness and thus he wsa unseen save for that which veiled him. Near, quick as a second hand the sound resumed. Fick tick air disturbed, slashing impact with minimal force, ever stationary, interspaced by a perplexing squeaky squelch. It’s source, once he spied it, near stopped his heat.

She was small, wrapped in a translucent rain coat specked with smiling green facsimiles of frogs. Underneath the water blur he could make out a pink shirt and jeans darkened by splatter and mud. The odd sounds, he saw, were from the swing and impact of a glossy rope, it’s ends clenched in her hands and bristling with whiskery ribbons that flickered in the fire light. Her glossy boots squealed and squeaked with each hop, and she was hoping to herself, singing, having sought warmth and light in an unfamiliar place and singing to combat the unfamiliar with forced cheer.

“Hellloooo operator, please give me number nine.” Fresh from a storm perhaps, though the burning barrel she’d set herself up at would likely dry her soon if she kept up exertions and proximity. “If you disconnect me, I’ll kick you from- Behind the ‘frigerato’ there is a little glass-“

The double meaning of the song flicked over her head as her feet skipped over the rope. Despite himself the Wraith’s lips twitched. A long time ago he’d had a niece and he’d been a hair older than her and a bit more corrupt though not the twisted thing he was now. He’d taught her similar songs to the mortification of both their parents. Alluded swears woven in story fragments to be sung while skipped though. The choppy narrative continued, the water born squeak resolving into a semi-firm tap as heat and time did its wonders and he watched, and waited, looking here and there for someone, anyone, about to notice what he was noticing.

Perhaps it was the fact that English was not his mother tongue, but he was learning a few words she likely couldn’t explain to him, all accidentally. Thus bemused, and irritated, he waited a bit more, then cursed as he felt in his bones a generator spark. His head turned, old instinct triumphing over present curiosity. Before conflict could be met head on, beyond yearnings and pulling, the familiar meaty thud of a body striking floor jarred him. He flicked his ember eyes about, seeking one of the damned sols he must usher onto their next cycle and his regard was met with the sight of the child sprawled on cracked concrete, perhaps some moist dewed blade of grass underfoot from a jag had caught her foot just wrong…

Regardless of reason the child was down and her rope skipped into the eldritch night to clatter by his feet.

“Skippy!” A gasp, not a death rattle, but a tame horror of sorts for abandonment noted. “Wait for me, I’m coming, you watch out for Dad, Sir Ribbit, I gotta get Skips.”

The last was directed to a rain coated stuffed animal that had been moved dangerously close to combustion to “get warm” . A scene he’d missed but easily deduced. Humming a cheery string of notes the read head child, her wide pink hat had come loose as she haired into the dark after her named toy, like hat her hair carelessly flew behind her, then it’s vibrancies was lost as light was more a memory and familiar mists licked about her. He crept back, as she skipped forward, shifting a bit besides so not to be directly between her and the toy, and so rapt was he on her, noticing what she noticed and ready to bolt if she saw him somehow, some way, he missed the most important thing about them. The rope itself, his toe caught an edge just right, and it shifted, draped over his foot, making invisibility once perfect more a comical facsimile as it went with him.

She of course saw that, and he froze, moving only enough so that the thing slid off his foot to thud on the ground before him. Beyond them both, he felt another tug, another generator close enough he could smell it’s fumes as it kicked in charging the stagnant air. Looking past him, and his telltale shimmer, her eyes only for Skippy, then to a spot near him, a small frown twisted her face, then with a shrug she carelessly crossed the rest of the distance, only stopping touch close because she saw the light in the distance, the light of an unchecked generator, and perhaps she heard its chugging.

Her distraction, that moment, the ones before it, decided him. He knelt, sliding rope in his hands, and got as low as he could, his smallest crouch and his motions of touching the rope undid him. Invisibility dispelled in action.

The irony was not lost on him.

Despite his efforts at compression she was small enough to have to look up and up. Mouth going slack with a gasp. 

Then, incredulous, she spoke. “Wow, you’re really _really_ tall.”

And it was not a scream, it should feel a victory, and he tipped his head, twisting his lips into how he remembered smiling felt. And she didn’t scream then, and followed up the obvious with a whispered. “That’s the best ‘ween costume _ever_ ….”

Again, it was not a scream, still therefore _it was good_. Save for some ominous feeling... and his gut clenched on realized anxiety when her next statement confirmed a nameless fear in his gut.

The conclusion, as it were.

“Wai… Dad was goin’ to a company ‘ween party, the biggest, did he send you to get me?”

The near enthusiastic squeal the last was said hurt something within deeply. Its’ allusions unpleasant enough and the desperation under the glee… She hopped, rope unneeded. Throat near locking shut the Wraith shook his head, another generator tripped, badly with an explosion of sparks and light, it’s illumination bathing a nearby wall a sickly yellow, the pistons were grinding into a wall as after all this time the Entity did not understand machines and their needs. Despite physically impossibility of a pisto chewing through a steel wall thicker and thinner than it should be… and it sounding like steel grinding up stone despite the lot being steel.. The Wraith huffed, irritated, and more so when physics didn’t take their normal turn and cause the damned generator to break down like it should. The sound was unpleasant, and he snarl glowered at it, his equivalent of a withering look since the Entities… gifts had touched him. She squeaked ”monster” of all things, and huddled against his leg, shivering no less.

Old memories, new sensations - _when had he been touched? Willingly touched by hands not wanting to hurt? He couldn’t recall an instance beyond his childhood, a depressingly long time ago_ \- set a spark of indignation alight in the void of his heart. 

They’d triggered _two_ generators, one dashing close to him and this child and they _hadn’t come_. The child had been singing for the love of God and they hadn’t tried to do anything despite being right next to her. He could lunge about the wall, a quick run and that vanishing silhouette could be caught, it was hellishly close and instinct warmed indignation, he gripped his sickle and seethed.

And was held in place by the small arms about his leg.

The coagulation of then and how it should be and how these blighted fallen souls were acting decided him.

He’d give them one chance, clearing his throat, the Wraith ran a dark tongue over his fangs and tried talking. It was a rusty parody of how he should have sounded, his accent muddling things likely, still anything in a goodly distance could hear, he was just shy of yelling, and that grass to the right rustled most tellingly.

“Why don’t we look for your father together? But I need you to do something very brave for me. You see your frog.” Though yards away, he’d crept back as she’d crept forward, making the distance a bit greater than it should have been. “Can you rescue him from the light? We mustn’t leave him behind after all. And get your ah.. cap while you’re at it?”

He felt a damned fool, blundering words at full volume, words that felt wrong in his mouth no less, but she nodded. Assured him near breathlessly fast and quite enthusiastically.

Going to the light wasn’t scary, or a thing you needed to be brave for. But could he please, pretty please, hold her hand going up to it? Because the dark about them and it coiling mist was kinda scary and smothering and…

And taking her shoulders, not quite hugging, holding her back just a bit to better see. He smiled, letting his fangs show, and he explained, a bit of the truth as gently as he could. He wasn’t in a costume, and the light for him, was very scary, and he could not go through it without pain. And for her Sir Ribbit, he would not burn, because for him, light burned.

“Just one moment, there to back here, it’s all it’ll take.” He assured, rubbing her back with his ghastly hued hands, and she’d pulled back a bit, pulled a hand forward and poked, prodded, assuring herself it was no fakery but real, his hand color and their clamminess and the unsettling lack of pulse and other mundane things perhaps. “One moment.” He promised, then chuckled, because she hugged one of his hands, rubbed, trying to coax warmth or peel off paints perhaps. “Ah ah..” he clucked. “That won’t work.” 

He’d tried, the first few trials skipping hunts to thrust them into fire no less, but he was never warm, only hurt. He was always just chill enough to be miserable, and to spare her the misery of his unnatural flesh he pulled his hands back and up, and stood.

“Now, you have a… a frog to rescue and I’ll see about getting that ah “Monster” to be still, hm?” He had plans of breaking that generator to bits, a few good swings would still it’s gyrations but if her really tried he’d bring it down to scrap, at least if should have worked that way. It’d likely not, but he’d try, as he always did. “Go to the light and wait for me at its edge, when I get close you can join me, alright?” 

She nodded, then snapping his hand up, holding it tight, chill and wet notwithstanding.

“Just to the edge?” She whined, ever a limpet that one. Despite himself the Wraith cracked a smile.

And conceded, just this once. “To the edge then, and then when it begins to burn I’ll let go and you be brave, just for a little while I deal with the monster.”

“Alright.” Nodding, small frame stiffening, she hung close but did not cuddle, it made waling easier and it was only a few steps for him, a few moments, then the familiar prick of illuminations edge sang about his nerves and he stepped back and she went forward, his hand still in grape, pulling gentle back. She let go with a soft mew but stilled as he stepped back, and she could see, where the light added a golden tint to her edges his were a blotchy red that near smoldered. One moment, to gawk, another to understand, and in understanding she flashed him a smile and bit of tear rimmed bravery. “I’m good, thanks!” She took the last steps alone, save for his scrutiny, and waved. A gesture he mimed, if stiffly, and he left her and took a great deal more time than he should have “putting the monster to sleep.” Wrestling hope with frustration and venting on the one thing in these damned trials that could not scream or rage. She would be “rescued” by the souls about her, the ones that looked so much like her and aped living so well. They were cunning and fast and ever with supplies in this underworld gone mad. Infinitely better than him, a shell, a man once so oblivious he never noticed the dying and when he’d moved to avenge them he’d done nothing more save murder and set his soul to this limbo ever more. 

And though he’d pointedly not looked at that damning patch of grass and it’s pseudo human occupant, spent ages, and a new generator turning on no less while he waited, he wailed on the metal, a familiar staccato beat that mirrored the thrumming rumble of an outraged heart… Like one he’d had once before, he came back weary, and worn. Victorious she’d say.

 _Did_ say…

Because he returned to find her waiting, curious, worried, and utterly oblivious to the fact she’d been abandoned twice.


	2. Chapter 2

He daren’t leave her, when trails ended the world became a collage of washed out hues and recalled matter, he’d had to cling to what he’d garnered form his hunts and wanted to hoard, deathly tight, and even then he’d not kept all of it.

So a compromise between her searching and his worries was made, or rather dictated. Because she was a child, and he an adult despite his supernatural leanings. She could look, but must be snatch back close. And she was, until she wasn’t. She’d ran ahead with a holler, a heart rending “Daddy!” and he’d been so startled, he’d turned to see her path, not still it, and she’d breached darkness for light by illusions call. He gave her a moment, to hunt about the span, and when she didn’t come back he followed. A touch, she whined, leaning into it, then he was pulling her away from a lighted span. Two barrels pressed flush against each other, a pile of rocks behind them had looked vaguely human shaped and bore a slash mark form his sickle when he’d been fooled. She’d been all but crushed by her disappointment. Pressures and longing pressing her into immobility, and so he did small things. Gathering her abandoned plush, hat, setting the last on her head, winding skip in her flaccid hands, then drawing her into comforting darkness. Turning both their backs on that illusion least she be tempted again, the chill of his touch, perhaps his murmured words, brought her back. She looked up, hands ghosting over and over the wound rope about her arm, sniffling, then whispered.

“I… I don’t think he’s here, Mister.”

Feeling the second to last generator light he pulled her close, forgoing vanities like smothering embers that’d never spread. Watching sky and edges wearily, he held her, ever careful to keep the rags between his form and her flesh while she clung to him and cried.

Because she’d been so sure, so close… And then she hadn’t….

One moment, another, and he let a deep breathe out he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There was one more to go, and the closest was mere feet from where she’d wandered. This had been a last… how had the sport mad claimed it? A Hail Mary? Regardless, it was a desperate offering to the apathetic entities wearing human skins that bled so very much and babbled snippets of prayer and profanities when their illusionary flesh was set to a hook and blade.

They’d feel the bite of both edges more often now, he decided, ripping off a bit of wrapping by his wrist, kneeling even as she obediently tipped her head up and let him dab her eyes. It wasn’t clean, but he’d picked an unbloodied span so it’s do.

“We’ve a little longer, do you want to keep looking?”

She nodded, expecting perhaps to be as it was before, him holding her hand, her dragging them forward with him only intervening at times. It’d been a delicate effort of slowly been tailing the lost souls. Part in the desperate hope they’d look back long enough that she’d recognize one of them, call out, and they’d cease flight and this aberration of a Trial would be done, part because they were on the last generator and he’d fuzzy impulses to follow them because of that.

Never had a moth been meant to have such bite as a blade, but here it was, and here they were.

Still it wasn’t as before, he held her close, guided her to tuck her legs just so, set herself on the crook of his arm, she’d of course spied his blade and he’d had a grand time of playing keep away from hands that wanted too much too fast. It took some juggling, a stint with it over his head murmuring for her to stop before switching languages and she did, with a smile that said she’d understood tone if not words and been playing with him anyways.. But that was past, in this present moment he held her, she her fluffed creature with her hat atop it, and him his sickle tucked under his arm, blade pointed away and down so that if he trip neither he nor she would be skewered.

He’d had to contort horridly to get his bell to chime against his blade, her squeak as its expected effect kicked in made him smirk and she looked about, at first for him, but tightening his grip assured her and her chuckle for “nearly flyin’” was a reward of sorts. Having no other way to hold the bell, she held it for him, and they went many yards, galling as he near ran. And one of the damned survivors did look back, the flicker of motion in the grass all about told of scattering, and a rise warned of a generator above and about. The boy, normally droopy eyed and pale with exhaustion became bug eyed at the sight of floating child. Shocked to full wakefulness at the sight before him, he skidded to a stop, and Meg who had been warned that the people about here weren’t real people but dangerous impostures, waved. The danger stranger’s represented had not sunk in quite yet, a blessing for him as she hadn’t hared from him in fright, and a curse, because she disregarded all she carried in her cheer.

Gravity and ill luck were in full effect, and she dropped near everything, and saved stuffed creature because it was hers, familiar, and lightest. The bell, being heavy and with no sentimental value was easily forgotten. And the inevitable happened, it landing on his foot and it clanged for the impact, gifting the glaze eyed faux human a full viewing of the Wraith, human child clutch close, bent over, hissing swear words at the child’s head, and of course she had to squirm about and ask what was wrong around giggles which made the resulting “sorrys” utterly insincere.

He straightened, lips pealed back into a hiss of utter hate. Still he waited, long enough for the features of the shocked boy to register father more than “frightened” and “prey” and perhaps “the one that hit me with a pallet last week while yawning” and seeing so few of the features matching the child and the fact the child wasn’t yelling terms of endearment… The Wraith considered it proof enough the two weren’t related, which was a relief. He couldn’t imagine Meg being form between a union of a man and some humanoid doppelganger, _despite_ the evil slant to her giggling.

Which was quite fortunate, and more importantly the hook mere yards away. The drowsy one, seeing the steeling of those glowing eyes turned about, intent on running. He wasn’t adept at seeing in the dark however, and luck gave as it took. The creature staggered head first into a thick pole with a familiar hook atop. The force of the creature’s impact dazed him, and he sat suddenly, eyes glazed and pupils mismatched. The creature looked up, taking the inevitability with a groan, and then back and winced at the shadowy frame approaching.

“Aw Fuck…“ Eyes flicked to Meg, who’d slipped out from the Wraith’s hold to better squash some innocent plant life with her weight, to the approaching Wraith, and those thinned, burning, eyes the drowsy one, whom Philip had mentally dubbed “Sloth” swallowed. “Um… I mean “Aw Fudge?”.”

Puling his sickle from under his arm, the Wraith tapped the flat against the hand not holding it’s handle.

“You’re not gunna… she’s like _right there_.”

Not looking away from the sprawled survivor, who was trying to get up, but his limbs were working… spastically… the shock was passing and settling into a disjointed attempt to escape. But, again, physics were a curious thing; the pseudo-boy bared a scratch from his first encounter with the Wraith at trials start. The impact of the pole had been a second blow and the fall to the ground had been a third, and thus, though normally the Sloth should have been able to get up and move about, even seeing double, he could not. In the Entities clutches physics weren’t the only thing to take a day off. Proper medical science, even cause and effect, were skewed in alien ways here.

Smoothing the sneer off his face the Wraith turned to the girl, head tipped in a question, and she shook her head.

“Don’t know ‘im.”

And that was enough, while behind them the boy tried to crawl off he quickly reunited child with her things and with a pat set her to explore about the light behind them, to look for tracks and other things in the illuminated span. And once she was nicely occupied and turned right ways about (looking the wrong way, and a rise and some rocks would cut off her view nicely, which she indulged curiosity to duck about them with a giggle…) the Wraith got to work.

The Wraith was long limbed, it took three steps and a quick stoop to grab the fleeing creature’s ankle and wheel him to the post. A flip and the creature had it’s back to it, inelegantly, twisted a bit on the side, but he was somewhat in the right pose.

“You’re gunna hook me, right now, here? She’s like _five_! No five year old needs to see or know anything about this!” The artificial boy hissed, then seeing the Wraith lift his sickle, blanched. “I swear to God I’ll scream, she’ll come, you wouldn’t do anything in front of her, right?”

And the fool thing opened its mouth, perhaps _to_ scream. What it was was a target, and thus Philip swung. Starting low, sweeping up, slashing throat up to chin and splitting the creature’s skull as the swing continued. Blood and visceral matter arched above, staining the pole and above, by the hook, shadows writhed. The Wraith moved quick, bundling the limp body and near throwing it into the waiting claws, seeing it get wheeled up into nothingness and dissolving into smoke. It took less than two minutes, from killing blow to passing up, and the Entity had not lingered or cared, a kill was, after all, a tribute if done near the hook and that enough.

A low sweep and he cleaned his blade on the grass, forgoing habit of flicking off the red with his fingers for she’d notice that… She he’d taken a few moments, and waited a little longer for the creature’s blood to boil off the hook. While not clean it wasn’t as gore splattered as before, so he left it. Braving golden glow of illumination’s edge he called out, part hoping she wouldn’t reply, that something had taken responsibility and it wasn’t his anymore… But she did come, carrying a box baring a red plus upon its side, the lot faded and battered and clattering but thankfully not gore incrusted like so many finds here.

“Look what I got! It’s got bandages and smelly stuff and all sorts of things!”

“Bandages, are you hurt?” The Wraith asked part worried, part bemused.

“Noooo…” She drawled at him, clearly children thinking adults were fools were common from wherever she was from. “But your arm ones are awful dirty, and these are really clean and wrapped up and stuff! They even have some sparkly Band-Aids, like at a doctor’s office!”

“Band… aide…”

“But no lollis though.” She noted, whining almost.

Torn between wondering what a Lolly was, or a band aide, the Wraith stilled his tongue, only loosening it enough to suggest they rest. Thus she took the edge of the light, he the edge of the dark, and between them she popped open her find and he looked, seeing with his own eyes “bandages that were already wrapped” and was amused and amazed at how fussy medical items had been since he’d needed them last. Letting her pass him the crinkly plastic that’d sheathed them from the world, he crinkled it in his long fingers while she rummaged. And, indulging her weariness, and his own, he allowed her to extendthier time sitting, to take one arm and with her meager shade to protect it; she’d wrapped bandages from her find over his old on his arms, sullying the new with the old utterly unwittingly.

“Better?” She asked.

“Good enough to walk now, thank you.”

He stood and she followed suit, wondered. “Canni fly again?”

“Will you drop my bell?”

“Nope.” The speed of her assurance told that she would, probably multiple times.

“Then yes.” Philip answered, toes aching but not going to contest her promise.

For now.


	3. Chapter 3

When Quentin appeared, with the usual disturbance to the dark, the familiar swirl of mist and deepening of shade that preceding a less than glorious return, it was to the usual jeers and cat calls from the competitive of their camp fire gathering. Really, Feng had thought they were trapped in a game where they were the set losers for ages and no one could dissuade her of her belief. She held to the idea that if she learned the system she could buck it and get them out of the hellish AU virtual reality simulator they were in. It was a kind of delusion, Quentin supposed, that while he couldn’t get behind it he could understand it’s drive and respect that it did bring its own hope in a way. Even if the cutthroat slant of the competition from the younger Survivors was starting to drive him mad. It was almost more agonizing to go on the hook than to be first back, and he’d seen a few of the older hands, hooked side by side, fighting might and main not to go first as Feng was getting more and more creative in her return hazing practices. As long as she didn’t get them to mime out that stupid “up down” code thing before splitting up again next Trail, he didn’t really care what she was going about it. She’d nettled him about his return, even as he was rubbing his jaw, face aching from phantom pains of a kill that was wildly out of character for that particular killer, but his lack of protests alerted the older Survivors by the fire something was up. Enough so that Claudette called him over “for help” and he’d gone, dodging a likely dousing with whatever was in the bucket Feng’d taken to carting around and sousing the first to return with.

“Next time!” She’d mouthed, and again Quentin ignored her, giving Dwight a quick wave over, and that’d been enough of a red flag that Laurie came over, and she _never_ did unless either meals were being doled out by the fire or it was her turn for dishes.

“What’s wrong?” Came from the chorus of… well they were _all_ likely adults now, but considering no one had ever aged here ever… they were _technically_ older, though Laurie looked about his age, but then forty years here hadn’t added grey to her temples but there was something about that time you could see in her eyes…

Quentin took a deep breathe; let it out, one last brush of his hands where the sickle had hit home, then…

“Wraith’s acting odd… He found a kid, like a little little kid and she was flying at first, but then he dropped her, and she wasn’t flying, just him being invisible and holding her and… I’m awake, right? Like awake awake?” The last was whimpered, near drowned out by the rush of assurances from around him. “Because this doesn’t feel awake? Because he saw me see her, and he got real mad and he didn’t even hook me, he just… Scythed me, like…” He mimed the blow with his hands, tracing the path, still feeling it ache. “And _what the hell_ , I thought only The Shape could do shit like that and… And there was _this kid_.”

And he was babbling, and the adults about their camp fire were babbling back, mainly questions and eh wasn’t sure he was saying things right but he tried and Dwight looked worried and Laurie murderous and Claud… Well she let it go on a little before jumping in. First nudging a pot into his hands and a buckets into Dwight’s with orders for him to get more water and Laurie went with … And it was easier when given something to do, even if it was using the flat of the pot as a cutting board to cut the grassy things she was passing him. It was an away from all those crazy things he wasn’t sure he’d seen, and the crowed “You got Seconded!” heralded Nea’s return and impromptu bath in… glitter? Where the heck had Feng found glitter?

“Feng!” Sputtering, indignant and glittering, Nea huffed. “What the Hell, you plaster the first one out, not second!”

A smirk, more mischievous than anything else, and a wry. “Gotta mix things up sometimes, you know?”

And both girls were laughing, going back to the camp fire, arm in arm, and with a small smirk, because he was glad it hadn’t been something nasty, or him, two small blessing both, he got back to work. Not even bothering to look up when Nea squealed “revenge!” and scraped off some of her shiny and scraped it in Feng’s hair.

“How am I supposed to hide with this crape in my hair Ne’?” Feng whined.

Tapp, bemused had appeared mere steps behind the girls. He wisely stepped back, lingering enough to see what was going on than shook his head and gave both bickering girls a wide berth to continue their glitter fight.

“Need some help?” the detective offered, tiredly.

Smiling Claudette brightened. “That’d be lovely.”

Taking a seat by the adolescent Tapp took another knife and a knotted thing that Claudette insisted tasted like garlic though it smelled sweet when it was cut and looked nothing like regular garlic. Still, they ate what was given even if the lot was utterly alien most days; Claudette’s talents for the culinary were a wonder of sorts, and the only things keeping them civil most days.

Civilized man not living without cooks and however the saying went…

“Everything alright kid? Lost track of the lot of you when I popped on the wrong side of the map.” Snip hiss went the knife and sweetness assaulted all their noses. “Thought we got another Bad Trail, when I heard some singing, but it cut off fast… Figured one of you kids were dicking about with the cars radios again to screw with the Wraith or something.”

Flushing, hunching into his chore, Quentin worked wordlessly, then realizing that the old copper was going to just linger over his cutting and wait him out the adolescent huffed. “I only did that _once_.” It’d been an epic auto yard rendition of “La cucaracha” and Quentin had no regrets… No one had gotten out of that round alive, but the bewildered spook shimmering out of nothingness in a circle of flashing car lights and blaring horns to look utterly panicked, then pissed, well it’d been worth it just to see one of the bastards emote. It’s also been educational, creepy bone sickles could peal back car roofs, who knew? Fuming and near foaming the Wraith had slammed sheets of junk against the walls and doors of their cars that’d never start, locking each of them in, then one at a time had pealed back the roofs with his sickle scythe thingie, wheeling them up one at a time for hooking with extreme well deserved malice, Quentin thought. It’d been the only time he’d died laughing in one of those things. “And it wasn’t… there was a kid, well I saw one, did you?”

“No.” Tapp’s eyes thinned, ever cautious, it wasn’t the first time the Nightmare had screwed with Quentin in and out of trials by making him see what wasn’t there. “Anyone else see them?”

“Her.” Quentin pushed his hair back with a grimace, “and so far, not yet.”

“Well, we’ll see what Kate’s gotta say when she gets back.” Tapp said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but there was a certain tension, a grim assurance that if there was a kid there with a killer.

There’d be hell to pay. Though futile incarnate Tapp had gone after Krueger, the Shape, and any of the killers when they had anyone he considered a “youngling” in their grasps with his fists. Secretly, Quentin wondered if that impulse had gotten the detective here, altruism and bad luck had a lot to do with a lot of the other’s stories. In the darker nights, when he fought off sleep and despair, he wondered if saving Nancy had been part and partial as to why he’d been sent here.

Not that he had any regrets, but still, he wondered…

Further rumination was broke by Kate, stepping out of swirling black mist, whole posture ram rod straight and each step stomping, seething. Feng and Nea stopped their antics, the returning Dwight and Laurie stilled on clearings edge, water and something small and rodent shaped and dead in their hands that Quentin didn’t want to look at too close but was likely dinner.

And Kate, ever straightforward, candid, and kind, broke many trends all in one sentence.

“How the fuck did a… a little five year old kid get sucked into this madness? Quen’ Nea, you saw, didn’t you? That little girl?”

Wearily Quentin lifted a hand, affirming, and Tapp swore, finally believing, the older man barked a grim. “What happened?” And he was told, they all were. Of a child hiding in the dark, Kate’d seen her, tried to get her to come into the light. She’d been right at the hatch, she could carry her through but she hadn’t seen the Wraith of heard his bell in ages and… And she’d cajoled, trying to assure the child that “sweetheart, I know it’s scary but I know somewhere safe” and the child had met her gaze, wincing back, and whispered.

“He can’t come into the light.”

“Who’s that?” A glance confirmed they were alone, it was safe, stilling her panic least the kid run off Kate kept her tone light and gentle.

You can’t see him.” The girl had preened, proud of her invisible friend s invisibility it seemed, froggy plush hugged tight.

And insanity on insanity.

“We’re looking for my Daddy, have you seen him?”

And she hadn’t, but she could help her find him if she went with her… And to the utter disbelief, the offer had lead to her wincing back, Kate had shrunk down as small as she could, softened her voice as best she could, and whispered. “You know, I don’t think I heard your name Sweetie, I’m Kate Denson, what’s your name?”

And the child had lit up, gasping even. She was known, Mommy had sung her songs all the time in the car… but she wasn’t here, and they were looking for Daddy and…

And her name was Meg Thomas.

Kate stood, decision made, it’d be a bit cruel not warning her but leaving her with a mad man with a bone sickle was insane. She’d scoop up the girl and throw them both down the hatch, and if somehow it kept them out they were mere yards from a generator, she’d get the last online and get them through the gate regular if she must.

“No I cant’ go to the light!” The girl whimpered, flinching back “He got hurt enough looking for Froggy I can’t… He’ll burn looking for me and I don’ have any band aids left!…”

Kate grabbed for her, wanting to say a hundred things, _I’m sorry but I have too. You don’t know what’s out here it’s a miracle nothings hurt you_ , and saying nothing because they needed to be gone, now… Some inner instinct shrilled at her, get her, get out, _now_.

Only to see the air about her shimmer and dead chill hands clamped over hers, turning the held flesh white and leaving small gouges where his “nails” bit in. Besides her, the hatch clanged shut, helped along by a nudge from a foot. Then Kate was pulled up and back, a hissed “You’ll let go now, without unpleasantness?” and Kate had, blade at her throat making her look up and away, one arm pinned, the embrace at her back making her shiver.

And while there was a generator mere yards away it stood in the shadow of a hook, Kate’d been trying mighty hard not to think about it, but here they were. Shivering, cold, with a hook a turn of a stairway away and the Hatch sealed shut by spindly red veined claws, making that kick all too final.

And though futile incarnate, Kate grit her teeth, past tears and pain, hissed. “You hurt her and…”

“And you’ll kidnap her, hm?” The killer murmured, accent present but in her panicked mind unidentifiable. Then he nudge her, his blade set a bit aside to better stab her in the side dare she run, so she didn’t. “Is her father… or mother… amongst your kind?”

And Kate’s mind blanked, for one dreadful moment, but she thought of the men at camp and the last names she’d learned, she’d only been here two weeks and it wasn’t even just one camp fire she’d been to. Sometimes when a trail ended she appeared with Dwight’s group, but then there was that one time where she’d stumbled into a group led by an Ace something-or-other who had a fledgling group some fire elsewhere, and Kate hadn’t learned all the people’s names or even why she went one place or another.

Her world had only ended two weeks ago, and this madness started then. She didn’t know. She shook her head, eyes smarting, because she _didn’t know_.

And, insanely, the girl noted she was crying, and reached up, patter her hand, smiled. “It’s alright Ms. Denson, we’ll find him, thanks for helping.”

Then with a hop took to the stairs, half a turn away she paused, looked back and up, wondering.

“I’ll be along in a moment; I need to fix Mrs. Denson’s… hatch so she can go home.” Then voice raised. “Don’t go past the last step.”

A huffed “yessir” reached Kate and the Wraith, and then Kate was shoved hit the floor and before she could scramble to her feet, was nearly half up, the blade had slammed home, slicing her head from her shoulders in one stroke.

That was all she could remember, pain about her neck post impact, then nothing. Coming aback after death by hook or otherwise was an exercise in the surreal, the realization that no, one wasn’t dead, that you were standing , walking towards the fire, then the facets of before swam in your head, making steps awkward and the world surreal.

And some of that surreal was with her now, stamped on the faces of all present, then, inanely, Quentin chimed in.

“What the actual fuck, he’s really helping her look for her Dad?”

“That or she’s on a hook somewhere and he killed her last.” Dwight mused, then winced. “Someone should… probably keep an eye on the mist just in case… I’ll uh do it I guess?”

Feng, blow to her pet theory landed, froze, assimilating... Then she huffed, rolled her eyes and groaned at the sky. “They patched in freakin’ escort missions for the killers now, what the hell Shittiest Game Ever!? You don’t give us those damned escort missions I swear I’ll glitch you so hard…”

Tapp and Laurie shared a look, part outrage part murderous, Nea the more pragmatic tossed the food on the fire, setting Claudette to scramble and cook what she could and the distraction of “save the dinner” jarred the more stupefied out of their funk. Dinner was a ruin though, but that was to be expected, and something as mundane as a screwed up meal helped minimize the sulking and mulling of those about her, so sorta win, right? Feng hardly agreed, but Nea figured, good enough and sorta win, and that was good enough for now.


	4. Mercifully universal

When the world had shimmered, from top to bottom like a mirage, he’d pulled the child close, turned her about so she was facing him, and she had seen in that moment. Enough to go pale and know that she didn’t want to keep seeing. So she didn’t, covering her eyes and hunching against him, and in that last moment, when the solidarity of the world melted away, he lifted her off the ground, curled about her, and they were whisked away.

When the sensation of falling fell away, and the earth was theirs again, sans impact, he set her down. The ground was more rough than the trials had been, bereft of encroaching greenery and the like, cracked cement made the lot more uneven than the auto yard, though this place was a fanciful mirroring of his most familiar hunting grounds, it was more fanciful yet in turn more real. She, with the barest of nudges, cracked open one eye, than the other, then though held in his hands turned about to properly gawk. 

Which was fair, he’d gawked and spent a long span between trials wandering about in a numb state of disbelief too.

Still when she squirmed, a universal motion for down, he held her tight. They were too close to a crack sporting writhing spider kin legs, red veins of pulsating matter were woven in their joints, and on the edges, scrolling up garage walls to arch above them, they became sky and an omnipresent overhead light that was both like and unlike a more fanciful hue found in sunset. To spite the bloody hue the light was more soothing to the eyes than most artificial or organic light sources, without a flashlights blinding glare, and it pinked the shadows in places, which after a long look up she looked down, all the better to see his shade and hers were pink, then to follow shadows up and better look around.

Her need for down, going down, was vanquished a bit and she wound her small arms around him, near biting tight where her arms criss-crossed over the bark embedded into his skin and made the bark bite back.

Indulging short hoppish bobs, not quite rocking her, but the motion was meant to sooth, he hummed old songs from home, snipits of half recalled prayer chants and lullaby and more modern things as he made his way to the car in the center of the lot. His impromptu bed since this had all began. He did not open the door, throw his sickle into the trunk as he normally did. Taking relief in the lack of blood and body within. Normal was felled with her coming, and thus he did what he could to make the lot accommodating for her. While slumber after a long day was an allure it was not a safe one, as the sightings of fey limbs and the like warned. So rather than turn in, he soothed and steeled himself, shifted her, setting his own bare foot against the hood to check for heat, solidarity, a lack of… nonsqirming substance under the hood. The lot was cool, as most things were here, and solid, and thus assured he set first his feet to the ground, then her upon the rectangular hood. The car’s make and model usually changed each return, but it’s squarish boxed look never did, and the wheels weren’t quite round, as if curves were a thing beyond the Entity’s comprehension. It took some effort to still her burrowing and clinging, she who wanted down wanting to stay up so bad, and it was only setting both hands on her shoulders and pressing gently down stilled her need to cling to him and clamber to the tentative safety of up.

One she was secure, and clinging to her stuffed frog, climbing him a felled impulse, he knelt and that did enough to make them even, because she was such a _tiny_ little girl.

Who shouldn’t be here. Hell, most times he was assured he shouldn’t be here, but then came the bells, and the Entity’s calls under the crunching wail of skewed klaxon… And the hunts after that affirmed he was meant to be and he must because he was bid….

It was a bitter thing, but for now, here, there were no bells, and the solid was just that, solid.

And he’d have to teach her, to check for such solidarity, to beware the squirming limbs that infested everything organic and otherwise least she be sacrificed, and to learn to see by this alien light that was causing her to squint so.

Still, first things first, easy things, gathering her small hands, the fluff of the green thing against his knuckles, he cleared his throat, his voice still rusty never mind it’s unsettling amount of use this day.

How many eternities shad it been since he’d… talked to someone, much less a child? Before leaving his homeland to pave the way for his own family to follow if he made a fortune, possibly? And had that been anyone beyond his family…. centuries ago if the slant of her clothing and the like rang true, well it was a chilling possibility he’d tentatively batted about when listening to the insane one he’d heard the others call Feng, rattle on about “RNG sucking” and other such insanities.

With this little one, looking so human yet so odd, well, the being called Wraith wasn’t sure of anything just then.

Still, he’d keep it simple, tried to smile and she didn’t shrink back, squeezing his hands in an attempt to assure perhaps that he wasn’t scary? She’d chattered such at him. Daring a skip during their hunt, before he’d adlibbed “flying” for her and the novelty of such had taken her words away.

Save calls for _faster and faster_ , which was to be expected and he’d indulged… because how could he not?

She looked pale in his light, from the gleam of his eyes and it’s surreal illumination, and flushed in the Entity’s glow, it was a curious juxtaposition when she sat before him, so close, her edges pinked, her features waxen.

Nails picking at his skin, trying again to _peel off paint_ set him to sigh, and he shifted his grip, twining his fingers among hers so she’d stop.

“It’s all real, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s a costume, it has to be, you aren’t bad, so you aren’t a monster, so it _isn’t_!”

Like a phantom, a demon of his own damnation, memory stirred. _You’re gunna… she’s right there!_

Well he had, so perhaps he was. It was fitting that this hurt him, and monstrous that it hurt her, still he could soften this as much as possible, had tried to soften himself as much as possible and that had worked. She leapt to his defense, never really knowing what she defended.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find your father, but I will keep trying, as best I can, as I am permitted.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then shrunk into herself, some internal vista hit and met perhaps. “This… this isn’t a really really weird dream?”

“If I may?” He tugged at her hand, and she allowed him to guild her hand, for her to take in the chill of his flesh, the brittle texture of his skin, from jaw up to bark imbedded cheeks, and he loosed and she picked at it, the whole of his skin moving quite.. naturally.. as she tried to pluck it off. A hiss, perhaps his fangs, stilled her. Then, emboldened at his mild protest’s end, she scrolled her hand up, to circle about his left eye, again and again then lean close, near falling over, to poke at the back of his head.

She of course found the few tangles he hadn’t raked out yet, and tugged on those no less.

“There’s not wires… no flashlight….” She noted in a small voice, barely a whisper.

“It’d have to be very small-“ He jerked back least she shove her hands into his mouth to check his fangs, they were sharp he could attest. 

An…. opportunistic aberration… had scavenged rope from a clown abode once, after knocking him down with a pallet the thing had tied him while he was stunned, taking his sickle and had prattled on about dissecting a demon. Him he presumed. He might of suggested it apply blade to its hellish kin, but he’d other needs for his mouth than sassing at prey. He’d managed to get bindings to his mouth, tear through the binds, and though bloody faced his assailant, all mad, had clambered over him in it’s smallness, sickle held high, and he’d managed to wiggle and thrash enough he’d knocked the thing down. After a squirming struggle, taking the flat of his scythe to the head while he gnawed off more ropes and the like, he’d pinned them down, knocked his blade back so it spun into the night, and with a coagulation of sweetness from unseen food displays, the bitter blood tinge of his own blood, and the bright notes of a calliope playing overhead he’d drawn the thrashing thing close and bit down hard.

He’d never understood Braum Stokers, or even television’s, fascination with vampires, since that rather spectacularly blotched Reaping.

“No,” He reared back from her reaching hands. “That is not safe.”

“Real?”

“Very, and sharp.” He clicked his fangs and she nodded, snuggling her plush close, trying to warm her hands in it’s softness.

“Do you make them sharp? Like…” She mimed something flat and tipped up, sawing one way than the other, then… Then the creature known as the Wraith laughed. 

“No little one. I don’t file them to sharpness; they… were given to me like that. Everything, this car, this room, and it’s rather… wiggly… limbs scattered about, they are gifts from the thing that brought me here and keeps me here.”

“Oh.. is it… is it keeping me and Dad here, whatever it is?”

“Right now… I don’t know… This place, the one I met you at, and the one here… It’s all very very special. But, not special in a good way. You see… when people di- disappear, the really bad ones, like the bad people in stories that tried to keep them from ending “And they lived happily ever after” well they go to a place where they are made to pay for their crimes. The creature that brought me here, the Iska, is gatekeeper and grounds keeper for that place, which we are in now. And I think, more than likely, you were near someone much like a villain in a story, and when the Iska grabbed them they may have reached too far and got you too.”

“But I wasn’t doing anything bad!” The girl yowled in outrage.

“No but look about, you see how many limbs it has. The Iska is a thing of many arms, and too few eyes and it missed, and for that I am sorry.”

Curling about that bit of her previous life’s softness, making the plastic of its coat crinkle and squeak against her own, the girl cried. Feeling a fool, the being who was Wraith and Reaper both sat before her, keeping watch while she grieved. Until sniffling into plush grew dull, and she set it aside to cling to him and begin her grief anew.

He should detach her, push her back, his chill must be hurting, freezing the very water on her face. Still she held tight, and the sounds summoned old memories, older sensations from a lifetime away.

He murmured the old prayer his mother had, over him while she’d sooth him over some childish woe. It was an odd offering, perhaps, soothing in a language she’d never likely heard of or known, still the motions that followed, of him picked her up and holding her close, those were mercifully universal.


	5. Chapter 5

She’d become a gossip point all accidental and without her ever knowing. Survivors hissing her name over generators. First among themselves, a soft speculation, “What horrors is he doin’ to this kid? I get goosebumps thinkin’ about it.” Tap breathed, Ace nodded, face grim, setting tool to tightening the bolts.

He’d speak to his survivors, and they’d reach out to others. There were clusters. Not compatible souls from same when and where’s but differing peoples from alternate spans that shared a camp fire. A quick history comparative between a few of the younger who’d haled from later times verses the old hands who were living the span that was being studied had confirmed that impossibility all accidental.

Which was another tangle for another time...

“I’ll have mine keep an eye out and let you know if we can get anything like rescuin’ under way.” Ace promised. “Luck to you.” A tap and he abandoned Tap to the last ten percent of the generator.

A few seconds after the gambler had slipped off the crunch of gravel and thrum of terror told Tap he was seen at best, and was about to be hooked at worst.

The rumble of a chainsaw hinted the darker of the two possibilities. So near the end he dropped everything and bailed out a side window like a common criminal.

And grit his teeth at the injustice of it all.

XXX

She’s attentive in bursts, and needing of physical touch to ground her, least she wander, in attention and quite literally. It’s common in the younger and so he accommodated both. Talking and teaching as he was himself was taught, holding her to his side while he explained. Permitting her to take a bit of metal, a bit of warped door handle from some car, and letting her doodle while he exercised his voice for the first time in what felt centuries. Then, when talking was done he’d made it a showing. Of the first he warned her to look at things sideways. A patch of tires in the back of his garage were… twitchy and he took her there. Hands holding her own, her arms stretched as high as they could go, and she on tip toe no less, she… Well it was a parody of dance perhaps, letting her tip toe to the intertwined sideways (a tell, Entity marred matter was always off, sometimes grotesquely so).

“Do you see?” He near rasped, his own skin crawling for the proximity, an she paled, alien light be hanged, breathe steaming, she nodded, and dared a few steps closer only to be wheeled back by him as the lot unfolded and reached. Talons snap snapping at her face with impatient clicks, only to refold into a seeming of tires sideways, save there was skin of ground, a plate of it, at it’s wrong way base.

“Is that the monster under the bed?” She’d breathed, wanting up and he wasn’t heartless enough to deny her the seeming safety.

“No, it’s something worse. It is… a facet of something greater, an ugly part of it. One you need to avoid. So when things look wrong?”

“Keep away?”

He smiled, fangs glinting in the chancy light. “Good.”

And never mind the dodgy slant of his present abodes illumination, she beamed.

XXX

He’d found survivors away from the route of generators, one even calling out as if looking for a lost pet. The Wraith found his reaping more difficult for it as none of them were acting… well right. It was as if the damned clutch had all lost something. There were two trials where there’d been no generators activated, simply human skin wearing abominations looking for something lost.

While it made making kills easy it set him to worry. While Meg was loath to be left alone, chattering about how the whole of the garage would shrink, blocking her from everything save a small span about his bed of a car he dared not take her with him.

Because they’d been calling out among them one word. Megara. And while not right ( _His frantic thoughts cycled between correction and fear: It was Meg, and she was human, not one of them, he’d not let them take her and make her into them_ ,) it was close enough he worried.

XXX

Then came the trail with the blonde woman, the she-thing with hollowed eyes and a cat like tread, that changed everything. 

She’d been armed, and vicious, and sworn he’d _get away with nothing_ never mind _she_ was the one on this damnation circuit. And if she’d had the clown’s domain and her peer’s integrity to match her crazed violence... well a Reaper would have been reaped.

Still he’d taken her, blade and all, and ended her spat of stepping outside the bounds of a trial, via a scythe strike to the head.

Limping back, the mirage solidifying into his car, and Meg atop it, squirming in restlessness and worry. Well she’d stayed on the car rather than in it, a progress of sorts, better than finding her circling about it as if the world ended just about its shadow and she _must_ test those limits. 

Sliding off, small feet tap tapping, she closed the distance, and he locked his legs even as she wrapped around them, chattering fifty words at him in a second. Ending as it always did.

“And how was work?”

“Good and bad. And no, I haven’t found your father yet.” Philip offered wryly, one had smoothing her locks, the other clutching his side, she noticed though as always, first tugging as if to free his hands from its sport then perhaps catching the telltale wetness, (though the color was wrong, a sickly green, still it dripping down from the pressure was familiar enough to be ominous it seemed) she let him go with a pat and scampered to the trunk, a tug or three and the metal swung up, a grunt and.. Well it was peculiar seeing a med kit with legs waddling closer.

“Thank you,” He pulled open the door and sat even as she dropped the battered red box at his feet with a grunt and withering look at the box that’d likely evolve into profanity as time wore on. He, the adult, and per their rules, popped it open. Picking up gauze and thread and setting the lot in his lap. The stab wasn’t deep, and he tended it with long familiarity. Being a victim of violence wasn’t a foreign thing to him here, or even before here, so the motions were practiced if a bit clumsy. “Meg, dear, have you ever heard the name Laurie before?”

Silence, humming, she stopped gawping at him and his efforts, to bob a bit in thought, after a moment she shook her head.

“If you ever meet her,” A name garnered by the shocked hollers of hiding peers, of a young man so akin to Sloth in his perpetual exhaustion the Wraith called him such in his head. “Run away, like you would for any of the others fake skinned humans… but if she lays one hand on you, you do everything and anything to get away. Biting, hitting, screaming, everything and anything , you get away and come to me and _only_ me.”

Thus he’d warned his sibs about police, because it was impossible to tell corrupt from not, he’d been trained from childhood to trust familiarity. Here and now it was shame that he must look so demon faced that he was the most familiar safe thing… But those to be reaped had lost something of their softness, and gained claws to boot. And so she must be warned, as he’d been warned, as had his nieces, nephews, after hm.

She looked up at him, not understanding, pale and worried for his wound. So he clarified, gently, as he worked, not shielding her so much from the hurt, because she understood and was a sympathetic thing, if not outright empathetic though he saw no scars to show how that was so. “Child, they have claws now.”

They’d had guns then, but it was much the same… Too much the same. His heart hurt, though Reapers we not meant to have such.

Wordlessly she nodded, and then sat beside him, leaning against him, seeking assurance of his realness in contact perhaps. He didn’t ask and she didn’t say.


End file.
